Hi. Me again. It's been two and a half months since my last entry. And boy, have I ever sinned.
Before I get into today's story, let me get this out there into the universe ... today when I woke up, I weighed 243 pounds. Technically, I probably weighed more than that, but I refuse to weigh until I've tinkled. Every little bit helps, right? So I was bummed, of course. Huge number. Biggest I've ever seen on my home scale.
I tried something new today. I decided that I needed a person. Someone who knows my number (243 ... gasp!) and can therefore appreciate when I've dropped a few or sigh along with me when I've gone the wrong way. Someone who I can be accountable to. Someone who won't judge me, 'cause she's dealing with the same issue. Not my husband, or my son. My weight loss counselor knows my number, but she doesn't really count. She doesn't love me the way my person loves me. I called my sister.
I shared my number with her, out loud. It scared me. 243 pounds is a BMI of 41.7. Both numbers are equally frightening. What's scarier, though, is the possibility that I'm now closer than ever to being 250 pounds. That's an eighth of a ton. What?!?!
I've spent much of my adult life looking for the trigger, the epiphany... the moment when I finally realize why I should lose weight, the motivation. And it's bothered me that it's never really one thing. But I think what I'm learning -- finally -- is that in order for me to conquer THE BEAST I need to have an epiphany every single day. Maybe more than one. Whatever it takes for me to realize that I've never done anything so bad in life that I need to punish myself with poor health... that I'm worth good health, and my family is worth it, too.
Today's revelation? Just that ... that I can have as many as I need to get on track and stay there.
Weight Loss in the Age of Trump
1 day ago